


crepusculum

by meapom



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: (Possible) Fluff, Blood, Dark, Gore, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Murder, Physical Abuse, Suicidal Thoughts, Unstable Relationships, Verbal Abuse, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-09-08 13:25:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8846794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meapom/pseuds/meapom
Summary: a collection of short joshler one-shots with dark undertones ((lowercase intended))





	1. the sound of your own drum

**Author's Note:**

> hello! im chloe and this is my first fanfic (in a way)??? i have an odd way of writing so i apologize for that. there will also be trigger warnings for most, if not all, the stories. i hope im able to provide more content in the future!
> 
> • • •
> 
> tw // implied character death

he was fading, that he knew.

sorry brown eyes that calmed his soul, saved it even, were becoming as dull as an overused knife.

the light crinkle of his eyes becoming relaxed while his hands twitched of need to touch; to feel.

with his hair as blue as the emotions emerging in the dead of night gently blowing in his face, he couldn't take it.

a tear escaped him, then another.

soon came a flurry of tears that brewed over his cheeks onto the ground rapidly.

would there be a way to go back? to make everything so perfectly imperfect again?

grabbing his hand, he put an ear to the man's chest, resting his head on him as if he were the most comfortable pillow.

ba dum. ba dum. ba dum. ba dum.

it was music. a symphony he wouldn't get to hear ever again.

ba dum. ba dum. ba dum.

the music he had loved but let go of far too soon.

ba dum. ba dum.

the sound of his natural drum slowly faded away, the greedy soul taking his passion with him.

ba dum.

his hand cupped his cold cheek.

silence.

he had faded, that he knew.


	2. happy pills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he never meant to get addicted.
> 
> all he wanted was relief from this world. like everyone else did. no?
> 
> tw // implied character death (suicide), drug addiction, suicidal thoughts

he never meant to get addicted

all he wanted was relief, you know? freedom from being caged and suffocated. a bird being freed from its rusted and dull cage.

the darkness in his mind was too much. he couldn't take it. it was pushing him. hate, caution, fright. so many emotions that made him a wreck every second of the day.

ecstasy, his twisted savior. he found it through a friend. ben, bonnie, beebo, barney? not that he necessarily cared about who it was. a light may help you find your way, but you're still the one finding it.

ecstasy made him forget everything, like the slight bitterness and annoyance in his heart right now. he was free. he was numb. he was happy. his happy pill. what would do without it?

to be honest, this makes him sound desperate. which he was. not that he'd say it out loud.

desperate. a word that could sum up him and his other addiction. his boyfriend. tyler. he loved him to no end, felt an escape; a relief. he practically worshipped him. a genuine love; smiles, light kisses, the brief yet steamy touches. at one point, that is.

now he could feel the darkness crawling back up to him, steering him away from the one person who loved him no matter what. go to the pills, it whispers. you'll be happy all the time.

tyler began to notice; that he was always out of it. that his joshie wasn't the way he used to be. he began to be annoying, taking up space, being too much to handle.

between the price of the pills and his love, tyler wasn't worth it. he cried when he realized it.

now the one living being that had made him feel anything was fading, far too gone for josh to reach out to find him. he was alone with his twisted thoughts and toxic pills for friends.

...had those pills been worth it? it was 4 months (or was it 6?) after his beloved had left he thought that. he's been getting worse. no. worse was an understatement. he's been wanting more, probably taking unhealthier amounts, yet he still can't achieve that happiness he got back then.

where was it? wasn't it his only friend? didn't save him from remembering his boyfriend (who he's forgotten the name of)?

his waging war of confusion, worry and pain suddenly came to a halt. there was definitely one thing that would make him the happiest he could ever be.

a short drive with hazy eyes did not turn out to be the wisest of decisions. he would probably be sued for sure. that is. if he wasn't going to do what he planned.

a bridge. a peaceful bridge high up over water. surely there was no better way?

with a few strides and a duck under wires, he was at the edge. the water looked inviting. for the first time in a long time, he smiled.

a quick inhale came before a long exhale and with that he was off. feeling like a freed bird, feeling freedom, feeling happiness.

with the last smile this world would see, it was easy to say that this was the best happy pill he had ever done.


	3. apathetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he's gone  
> he's gone  
> gone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is an extended ending of happy pills! however, while it would be easier to understand to read it, i don't think it's too hard to decipher.
> 
> tw // for implied death just in case

apathetic  
[ap-uh-thet-ik]  
adjective.

showing or feeling no interest, enthusiasm, or concern

/ • / • / • /

the whole event played on repeat for him, eyes boring into the television screen, blinded by his own static.

he's gone.  
he's gone.  
gone

never had he thought that someone would be as gone as him. no. that's not right. goner than him. that was better.

maybe the world was right for taking him, though it seemed a little unfair to him. why could he have been dead? he deserved it after all. leaving him all alone. leaving him with his twisted friends and lost hope. 

a breathy sigh escaped his lips, eyes blank as he stared at the warm carpet beneath his feet.

his mother watched his slouched form, worry evident on her features. he knew that look she was giving him, even without him looking. 

slowly getting up from the comfort of the worn armchair, he let his eyes flicker towards his mom.

the words that flew out of his mouth had startled her, hands gripping the warm mug that she held. 

it was never any of my concern, anyways.

he walked to the safety of his room, ignoring as his world blended together, sirens on the digital screen mistaken for his mind's own noise.

there was a moment of eerie silence before a bitter, choked up laugh escaped her.

"they've always said you were apathetic"

she pretended not to hear the weeps that came from across the hall.


	4. glass shards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an dream apocalyptic world of dread  
> and he found him there

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this isn't really joshler. if more like...the beginning to a platonic friendship. it's not sad can you believe.
> 
> also, i got bored with this later on oops
> 
> tw // brief mention of guns (starred with ✦ and starred again for the end of the mention) and a very very tiny mention of blood

in a dream world, he wasn't broken.

rather, he was the repairman, the glue that held the fragmented pieces together. the one to fix everything he has and hasn't done. the one to fight of the pain of the parts of glass digging into his skin, trying its hardest to reach the flesh, but failing. it still hurt, but everything was better than being the scattered shards on the ground.

here he was, staring into a dirty mirror, treasured rubies glaring back at him. hands painted pitch black gripped the remains of the sink. what ever this world was, it wasn't easy living in it. an enigma of a place, he supposes. a post-apocalypse would be a well rounded term. run down buildings, heavy air, red seeping into the earth. he could name more, but sometimes things are better left unspoken.

today, he hadn't been given a task. tasks. the whole part on how he knew he was a savior, an important figure. every time that he showed up in this eerie place, there was almost always a message imbedded in his brain. a chore. a mission. maybe it was free roam today in a sense. 

his thoughts were cut short, along with his quiet footsteps, by a sound. a scraping sound. metal on harsh stone. a dangerous sound. quick to place himself into the darkness, he watched as a figure came into view. hair as red as a burning flame. darkness overcast on his face. a long sniper rifle in tow, dragging low. 

a pause. 

a cold figure, yet so warm.

like hot chocolate, he guesses.

in this spilt second of thought, the man had locked eyes with him, hints of curiosity sparking in his eyes. 

✦

in another second, metal was being pressed to his temple, cool and unforgiving. 

✦

he's met with those harsh, burning eyes again. identity, they scream at him. 

like hell he was pissing this guy off.

blurryface

his codename. rit's a gentle breath, a quiet whisper, that spills from his chapped lips. barely there, but still heard, he knows this. 

spooky jim

✦

he hears it clearly with a hint of uncertainty. he could relate to that when he first arrived here. blood red eyes watched carefully as the large gun was removed from his head. he was safe. 

✦

for now, at least.

it wasn't long before they had gotten their lives together and moved along, a silence with tension the size of an elephant. nothing he could really do about that though. 

he had to watch him first. study him. turn him into something he could work with. figure out the correct pattern of glass pieces. what made him broken in the first place.

from the corner of his eye, he saw the flame haired man steal a glance. 

turning away, he stifled a laugh. 

maybe this one didn't have to be fixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	5. mama said

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> he had always preferred silk and lace to anything 
> 
> why was something so beautiful, such a sin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really like this one. i'll probably post it by itself with this ending and the alternate ending. i think it's also important to note that basically all my fics have death in them.
> 
> tw// verbal and physical abuse, slurs (only one though), implied self harm

when you were young, you were always more feminine, preferring lace and floral to large clothing with a lack of design. you were so happy like that, finding beauty in so many fabrics and wanting nothing more to dress yourself with them.

that's why it pained you when mama said you couldn't. it wasn't right. indecent. abnormal. wrong. 

i would comfort you on those low days, sneaking you gifts from red lipstick to silk bows. those days might have been low, but together we built it up to something better.

it was awhile before you got your own job, saving up money for yourself, wanting to finally finally finally be drowned in glitter and pinks. you stored it carefully, not wanting your mama to find your happiness and steal it away.

one night, a sleepless one where you could barely stand, you heard it. that devilish whisper. a devil chatting with an angel, trying to edge it close to temptation. 

mama said you were acting up, a parasite, a disgrace. 

that night, sleep was replaced with salty tears and ugly faces.

it was a while before you had the courage to try again. i decided to help that along, buying you a skirt of a pastel pink color. the color of strawberry ice cream, blushing faces and newly bloomed roses. 

that smile of yours lit up the whole universe, eyes sparkly and wet with tears. whatever mama said had evaporated, disappeared from view because in that moment nothing else had mattered.

i continued to buy you the clothes that made you comfortable in your own skin while you took in every bit of happiness the world gave you. it worked. it was fine. life felt worth something.

once, you came back home to scattered clothes and a screaming banshee. mama found everything you worked hard to keep to yourself, wanted to know why you were like that.

in a sea of your emotions, you asked why. why did it matter? you were still you. all that changed were the clothes that you wore. why was it so hard to comprehend?

her anger raging like a forest fire, her hands gripped your small face. 

mama said you weren't meant to be like this. that you weren't her child. she didn't raise you to be a faggot. that you were a waste of breath and space. that you could and no one would care.

her wrinkly hands moved to your delicate throat, desperate to rid of the air that kept you alive. 

you were choking, weeping, weakly pleading for her to stop, that he'll change. black dots clouded your vision when she finally let go at those words.

the devil smiled and said to you goodnight as she calmly went back to her room to rest.

before you went unconscious, you suddenly thought that life wasn't worth anything.

when you awoke from the floor, mama looked at you telling you that there were important chores to be done. 

it wasn't too long before a silent tear rolled down your cheek, watching your clothes be burned in the fireplace. it hurt you the most to see that pretty pink skirt shrivel up to ashy black.

and soon, in another moment, the kitchen knives looked way prettier.

i tried to help you. i tried. i tried. i swear to you i did. 

nothing helped. your eyes because lifeless, skin stretched over your bones, scars scattered on your stomach, arms and legs. 

that day, you asked if i loved you. and without hesitation, i said it back.

now, here i am, watching you with loving eyes. flowers decorating you, face gentle and void of hurt. 

for once you looked peaceful.

as you lay in your death bed, a tear drips down my face. 

taking a pastel pink rose, i tucked it behind your ear before i stepped back to admire you.

i imagined you smiling. whispering a weak thank you.

for once, i imagined you not caring what mama said.


	6. say goodnight, so i can say goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> death was a beautiful black hole.
> 
> something to gaze upon with loving eyes only to be sucked in and destroyed.
> 
> to him, at least, that was the case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // suicide
> 
> it's been awhile, i'm sorry. this chapter is based on the poet sylvia plath. her death was very interesting, as well as her life story. it was easy to make something out of it! enjoy!

death was always an interesting subject, no?

where did you go after the end? heaven, hell, purgatory...was any of it real? he couldn't say. no one could. no being with a beating heart could prove a thing. but the dead?

the dead knew.

they knew the existence of heaven and hell. they knew if god existed. they knew everyone's sins and secrets. they knew if he could be saved. 

and today was the day that he planned to be like them.

frozen brown eyes stared down the towels in his grasp. it was worth it, he had to remind himself. anything was worth more than feeling the pain his only love brought to him. he's left. he's gone. every single part of him. 

it had almost brought him to tears, to be reminded of his heartbreak. now was not the time to be distracted however. things were to be done. 

carefully, he stuck the towels underneath all the doors in his small abode, eyes never resting. 

rest. something that he had been lacking for a long long time. he'd been busy. busy with writing his heart onto a blank page with ink. a black that would smudge, yet never fade. his bleeding heart spilling all over a thin paper that was becoming tainted with his sins. 

at the thought of his horrid words that came out of his mind, he flickered back to reality. don't falter, don't falter, don't falter. he was almost done. he was close. now wasn't the time to be gone.

after triple checking all of the towels, he had turned on the gas. gripping the necessity with sore hands, he stared at the burnt metal on the stove. 

it was time.

seconds began to tick by in slow motion as the brunette placed his head in the oven. uncomfortable position? yes, but it was worth it. 

it had to work this time. it absolutely had to.

now minutes went by. time taking flight as he breathed. 

in and out his lungs went, each inhale taking in the beautiful poison of carbon monoxide.

in and out, he thought, the words looping in his head.

he began to doze off, eyes fluttering shut.

i've finally done it.

the small movements of his chest came to a stop as he slumped over.

•

a shriek echoes in a room, somehow knowing of their father's soul wasting away.


	7. ruby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> what's in a name?
> 
> in this case, a story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // mention of rape, self-harm

My name is Ruby.

Yes, Ruby, even though my sex is male. Don't get it twisted. It's not your name, so what does it have to do with you?

My profession? A stripper. A stripper. Say it proud and clear, say it with your heart and mouth, say it with respect. Hearing you say it makes me feel good inside. I'm not letting someone step all over me because I sell my body as a job. I don't need your judgement. 

For example, lying about it and trying to avoid it are the fucking worst. Once I couldn't come up with anything and had to say I was a professional twerker? Like what the fuck? Being honest is way better.

If you're wondering, yes, I'm confident in myself. If you couldn't already tell then you must be oblivious on a whole new level. 

Now it's not like I twirl myself in the mirror and say ''Boy, you poppin'". Well, actually, never mind. It gets me into the whole stripper persona, you know? Simple as that. Don't embarrass me.

At my strip club, I practically own the place. Everyone's begging to get me on their lap for a second to say that they managed to have me. It's fucking amazing. I feel like a diamond in the eyes of the needy.

I go through man, after man, after man on a daily basis. No one sticks to me. They aren't close. That's why when some assholes come too close, the bouncers protect me. I'm protected, getting an amazing amount of cash and have a body that's second to none. Could you ask for better? 

I'm living my life to the fullest right? I've got people to watch my back, so why did I freeze then? When that man touched me? When his hand crawled up my thigh like a spider? I was still stuck as he was pushed away, leaving me dull and broken again. It came to me all too soon.

He smelled exactly like my grandfather when he fucking raped me.

What a shocker right? One fucking man managed to crumble my walls of safety that I've been building up for years. 

I go home per usual that day. Do my normal routine. A shower is my favorite part of the whole night. Embracing the hot water as it hits my body and feeling it come to me as a purifier. I'm being cleaned of all the filth that came with that day. It still wasn't enough.

So I scrubbed. 

I kept scrubbing, and scrubbing, and scrubbing, and scrubbing, and scrubbing. My skin was blooming into a fiery red that burned so bad but felt so good. Tainted blood runs down my form, blending into the once transparent water. 

A fucking nutcase, right?

I'm trying to pick up the pieces of my shattered and scattered heart in the deep, dark ocean. I'm searching and drowning all the while a little girl is outside the door, wondering why I'm in the bathroom for so long. Poor girl doesn't know. She won't ever know.

I'm trying, I really am. To support myself and my baby girl. Being a single father is so goddamn difficult, but I've got to make her happy. God, I'd give up everything for her. Hell, I already am. My body and past doesn't matter if I get to see a smile on her face. She looks so much like her mother. 

Blonde hair that shines, a perfect white toothy smile and a slightly freckled face. 

Josh tells me she's beautiful. That I'm beautiful. That I'm worth something. That we deserve better. He's genuine.

It pains me.

I look at myself in the mirror everyday. I think I'm unworthy of the life handed to me. 

Disappointment.

Ugly.

Worthless.

I don't feel like trying anymore.

My name is Tyler, not Ruby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!  
> not in a lowercase format but i liked it :')  
> side note: this collection will end at the 13th oneshot, on an unlucky note

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
